i thought being a massively fat person in a wheelchair would be mortifying, but it was honestly the best feeling on earth. being pushed around by someone else while i sit there and do nothing, taking up the entire extra-wide seat, not being sweaty and exhausted from waddling around, being treated by everyone as if i can't get up, having people pick things up for me and give me lots of room... this is what i was meant to do. this is who i was meant to be. it made me feel so important and cared for
“I’m starting to get a little too fat. I ought to try to lose some weight.”
You hear something small clatter to the ground, and look down to see a spinning button slowly coming to rest at your feet. Your puffy potbelly sags through the gap in the waistband of your now-buttonless pants. You try to pull your shirt down to cover the gap, but your belly is hanging too low and it keeps riding up to your bellybutton. The friends you’re with see your face turn beet red, and try to stifle a snicker.
“I’m getting a little too fat. I ought to try to lose some weight.”
You bend over to tie your shoes, and the sudden constriction of your too-tight t-shirt takes your breath away. You can feel your sumptuous belly and flabby tits, bulging outward, straining against the fabric. You do your best to suck in and hold your breath long enough to finish your knot, then straighten up and take a loud, noisy breath. It takes more effort than you remember to get to your feet.
“I’ve gotten a little too fat. I ought to lose some weight.”
The walk to the corner store seems a lot longer than it used to. Then you realize it’s because the extra resistance of your thickening thighs rubbing together, your ass cheeks being pushed up and dropped with every step, and the jiggle of extra fat in myriad unfamiliar places all over your body is what’s slowing you down. You stealthily pull the zipper halfway down your hoodie to let out some of the heat building up from your exertion.
“I’ve gotten too fat. I ought to lose some weight.”
Your friends look at you, then nervously at each other, as you load your fourth plate at the group potluck. Distracted by your craving for another helping, you don’t notice how pronounced your waddle is as you plod across the room. You also don’t pay much attention when you sit down on the couch, until your wide hips spread across the cushion, your belly pushes you back into the seat — and the couch lets out a loud CRACK beneath you. Everyone in the room looks your direction, and then tries to pretend they were looking at anything but your embarrassed chubby face.
“I’ve gotten too fat. I need to lose some weight.”
You sit behind the wheel of your car, in your driveway, the frustration and bafflement growing in your mind. You check, and yes, the seat’s all the way back; wheel’s still making a dent into the pudge of your belly, but there’s at least enough room. The belt’s at its usual shoulder height. You lift your side rolls, flowing over the armrest; and the clip is positioned where it’s supposed to be. So why, you ask yourself, won’t the buckle reach? You pull again, the strap pulling on and cutting into your flab as you strain to get it just that half an inch further… before giving up with a frustrated sigh. You drum your pudgy fingers on your stack of side rolls. Maybe an extender would be a good investment after all.
“I’ve gotten way too fat. I have to lose some weight.”
You try to focus on the smell of the cooking food as you stand over the stove, but all you can think about is the roaring ache in your back and legs. You lean against the kitchen counter, feeling your belly hanging and pulling against your back muscles, painfully aware of the whole weight of your thickening body resting on your flabby legs. All this, you think, from standing ten minutes making a pot of macaroni? With a last burst of energy, you grasp the pile of lard at your midsection, your fingers sinking into it, and heave it onto the counter. It groans under the mass, but the pressure releases from your spine and knees as the weight settles. It’s clear this isn’t going to work much longer. You figure it’s time to get a stool and start sitting when you have to cook.
“I’ve gotten way too fat. I really have to lose some weight.”
You never realized how many different kinds of brushes there were until you had to scroll through the hundreds listed for sale to find one you can use in the shower. You still feel the embarrassment from this morning’s discovery that, even sitting on your shower stool, there’s too much blubber surrounding your arms, love handles, and thighs for you to reach everywhere you need to wash with just your soapy loofah. You find one with a long handle and soft bristles that looks like it will fit perfectly under your sagging belly and between your billowing rolls. You add a case of those hard-to-find jelly-filled cakes you love to the order and select the expedited shipping option.
“I’ve gotten way too fat. I really have to lose some weight.”
The blubber encasing your body, hanging between your knees and over the sides of your mobility scooter seat, wobbles as you whir along down the frozen foods aisle. Your basket is already filled with chips, cookies, snack cakes, sugar cereal, pasta, ready-to-eat processed meals — your usual fare for the week — but you need a couple gallons of ice cream to get you through the weekend. As you reach for a carton of double chocolate fudge, you feel something give way in the scooter underneath you, which now makes a sickly buzzing noise when you try to operate the unresponsive controls. It takes all your strength to heave your bulk up from the seat, lumber your hundreds of pounds up to the customer service desk, and lean against the counter to catch your breath and try to ask for help. All the bewildered clerk and other customers can do is stare as you pant and cough, too winded and overheated to talk, your fat undulating with your labored breaths.
“I’ve gotten wayyy too fat. I really have to at least stop gaining weight.”
You wake, still groggy, realizing you fell asleep and spent the night on the couch again. You gather the blanket on top of the wide mound of belly in front of you, fold it, and set it aside before collecting the snack wrappers and soda bottles left sitting next to you from the night before. You’re still a little tired, so you’re not that surprised when you grab the arm rest and push up, letting your belly roll forward over your knees, rise a few inches off the couch, stall, and plop back into your spot, the broad cheeks of your ass spreading to fill the indent covering two of the three cushions. What does surprise you, after you’ve woken up fully and collected yourself, is that your second and third attempts go little better. Somewhat alarmed, adrenaline pumping, you finally get over the hump and lift your tremendous bulk into a standing position. A chill of worry ripples down your spine, as the thought of having to call the fire department to get you off your own couch flashes through your mind. You step slowly, deliberately toward the front door; and if you weren’t so distracted at the thought of the grocery delivery waiting for you, you’d notice the jiggle and pull of the thick layers of fat covering every inch of your body, dominating your motions and shifting with every step you try to take.
“I’ve gotten wayyy too fat. And now… I don’t think there’s anything I can do about it.”
Welcome to Epigstolary, a place where I write about gaining, feeding, and all things fattening. My stories are usually at the higher end of the scale, with an affectionate emphasis on teasing, humiliation, and the consequences of extreme gluttony. If that sounds like your cup of tea, I think you’ll enjoy what’s in these pages, and I hope you’ll check out some of the stories linked below:
CONTENTS
Signs — All the little ways you can tell you’ll be getting bigger than you ever thought you’d be
Date Night — Your feeder envisions your likely future as the two of you make the rounds of your favorite fast food drive-thrus
Incubus — A shadowy creature has already made you eat yourself well past morbid obesity, and he’s not even close to being done with you.
Tough Guy — You may think you’re a man’s man, even if that waistline says otherwise. But your enabling partner’s happy to let you keep thinking whatever you want.
On Your Own — What does the future have in store for your superchub self without your feeder?
Real Talk — Your friend has some “advice” to share with you about your weight and habits.
Rebound — It’s easier to regain, and then some — as you’ll soon find out.
The Middle of Nowhere — Part One — A gainer who chooses an idyllic life in the country with their feeder might have gotten more than they bargained for.
The Middle of Nowhere — Part Two — How does a rural superchub handle dinner guests and a trip into town?
Lecture — You’re the focal point of a scientific teachable moment about the effects of hypermorbid obesity on the human body.
Deaf Ears — You haven’t been listening to your feeder’s warnings about your habits, and this is the result.
Step By Step — You don’t become a superchub overnight. But there are signs that’s where things are going.
Big Deal — It’s time you gave your feeder a talking-to after they get cold feet from your recent gains.
The Makings of a Glutton — What makes a superchub? A menu of food that’s terrible for you, apparently.
Too Much of a Good Thing — It may be wonderful, but the weight of your feeder’s affection is catching up with you.
A New Home — A newly-immobile superchub gets used to life in a facility meant to help them lose weight, but the caregiver who fed them that size has other plans.
Sedentary — Years of poor diet and too much time on the couch has made it harder and harder to get around.
A Normal Life — You consider a return to civilian life after years as a live-in feedee.
Out and About — Your feeder recounts their favorite things about taking you out and showing you off to unsuspecting, shocked civilians.
Wish Fulfillment — You awaken to find yourself the immobile superchub of your dreams, but how long will you get to enjoy it?
The Look — Your feeder wants to make sure you understand your situation.
Weakness — Your feeder confronts you with how your weakness for food brought you to your current obese condition.
Best Intentions — Unsuspecting bystanders gape, mock, and try to help as you begin mysteriously and rapidly gaining hundreds of pounds.
Enabling Delusion — You and your partner still think you’re going to lose the weight. Your friends think differently.
Center of Attention — Your popularity as a superchub influencer won’t save you from humiliation when your gains finally catch up to you.
Consumed — A poetic exploration of how gaining grew to dominate your life.
Expressions — A feeder recounts a gainer’s progress through how they react to their burgeoning body.
The Biggest Size They Make — You’ve been fighting your wardrobe for a long time, and now you’re losing the battle.
Morning — Nothing beats a cozy, comfy morning being spoiled by your feeder.
Excuses — You always have an excuse ready for why your weight isn’t a problem. But there are signs that you’re only fooling yourself.
The Deal — Your bodybuilding arrangement with a savvy gainer proves to be more than you bargained for.
Over The Edge — An admirer puzzles over how you let yourself get to the edge of the gaining abyss.
Just A Number — That’s all weight is, but yours has been going up alarmingly fast.
A Growing Problem — Your partner finally gets their concerns about your weight problem off their chest.
When, Not Whether — Gaining like you do isn’t sustainable. You’re heading for a crisis; it’s just a matter of time.
Realization — Your partner finally takes off the mask, revealing their inner feeder once it’s too late for you to do anything about it.
No Going Back — You thought you could experiment with gaining and lose the weight after you’d had your fun. You were wrong.
Trough — A shadowy feeder sets you up to eat like the farm animal you are, to see just how long you can manage.
Big and Tall — A rotund clothes shopper needs the help of a chaser sales clerk after a sartorial mishap.
Polite — You’ve gotten too fat to make fun of, but the polite restraint from your friends tells you everything you need to know.
When you said I’d never have to lift a finger if I didn’t want to, it turned out you meant it literally. And now, I almost can’t manage even that much. In all the years we’ve been together, you’ve always been the sweetest, kindest, most attentive partner anyone could ask for. You’ve indulged, even anticipated, my every whim. The hundreds of pounds of blubber I’m buried under are visible proof of that. But I don’t know how much more of your love my body can take.
When we met, I was comparatively skinny. Not fat; barely chubby, even. It didn’t take long for that to stop being true. You doted on me with regular boxes of chocolate, romantic dinners out, late nights staying at the ice cream parlor near my apartment until closing, homemade baked goods and other treats delivered before our dates. I was so taken by all your affection and how much I was enjoying all the treats that I barely noticed what it was doing to my waistline. The new (bigger) clothes you consistently brought me helped with that, too; but there was a part of me that was enjoying it so much that I didn’t want to notice, either.
I won’t say things changed, but they definitely accelerated once we moved in together. With basically a 24/7 opportunity to see me, your flow of affection turned into a torrent. Now, instead of only getting spoiled when we were going on a date or hanging out together, I was the beneficiary of your generosity almost constantly. It went from being a little pastry with my coffee break or a special second dessert, to having something new to eat or drink every couple of hours or less. It started taking conscious effort to finish one treat before you appeared, smiling, with another. I hated to be ungrateful, didn’t want you to think I didn’t appreciate what you were doing for me, and so… I just kept eating.
Eventually, I got used to it. It became a habit to accept your regular round of indulgences without question. And I started looking like someone who was used to it. My belly got too big to fit into our compact car, even doing everything I could to press its pendulous weight down between my legs. My rump and love handles thickened and widened until the armchairs in our living room became impractical, comfortable traps that my girth would fill and overflow and be completely stuck in without help. My elbows and wrists disappeared under puffy sleeves of chub that I could feel wobbling with each swing of my now-weightier arms, trying to counterbalance the movement of my body from walking. I say walking; it quickly came to look more like I was barely picking up each of my blubbery, shapeless legs and putting it down a little ahead of where it had been before repeating the process with the other. Once you told me I’d run out of plus-sizes at our favorite clothing store, and I saw no signs that my ballooning would be slowing down anytime soon, I knew I had to say something
It’s hard to describe the few times I tried to rein you in as anything other than a disaster. Try as I might, I just couldn’t make you understand that wanting to slow down on all the special snacks and desserts and goodies had nothing to do with how I felt about our relationship. You said you did, of course, and tried to put on a good show; but eventually you started to mope and seem listless and look absolutely miserable. You hardly ate anything yourself. And for my part, having gotten used to the constant flow of calories and the dopamine hit with every new treat, there wasn’t much willpower left when I saw how hard it was hitting you. It never took long for me to give in, see the joy return to your face when you got to start filling me up with lavish indulgences again, and go along with it when you made a point of outdoing your past spoiling to make up for lost time.
Now that it’s so hard to move, it’s only gotten worse. You know I can barely get out of bed, and how tired I get those few times a day when I do. You’re always ready to make sure I have what I need so I, literally, never have to lift a finger or even ask for something I might want. It seems like every couple of minutes, you bring me some new treat, something else to snack on, another drink, another meal, another candy. There’s always more, right at hand, to keep shoveling in.
And there’s nowhere to go. These days, I can’t even reach around all the fat on my body. It just about fills the bed that used to be big enough for the both of us. If I could manage to waddle all the way to the front door, I’m not even sure I’d fit through it anymore. I can’t get away; so whatever you bring me, I eat it. And drink it. And chew it. And swallow it.
And enjoy it. And dread it. And crave it. And fear it.
I wish you could see with clear eyes what you’re doing to me and what I really need. I wish you could see that I’m way, way too fat for my own good. That you should be making me move and exercise instead of sit and eat. That I need you to make me diet instead of make me indulge. That every treat is a temptation, every snack a sap to my willpower, every meal a means to make it that much harder to ever go back. You’re loving me to death, and every new pound proves just how completely, thoroughly, smotheringly you love me.
"Are you out on Wednesday? The rugby social? We could do this again afterwards..." Hamish looked down at the thin, naked body on the bed as he looked for his clothes.
"Maybe," Tom replied, trailing off and not making eye contact.
"What is it? If you don't want to it's fine." Hamish's eyes lit up with realisation and he grinned. "Ohh, you're hoping to come back with someone else! That's fine, it's not like this was ever an exclusive thing or whatever. We can do another time. Who is it?"
"It's not that. It's... Look. I'd rather not do another time."
"Oh. Right. No that's... Right." Hamish was surprised. While him and Tom weren't anything approaching a relationship, they'd been casually having sex since they'd drunkenly started snogging on a night out in Freshers week and realised as they'd made their way back to continue that they lived in the same university accomodation. For the past few months, they'd both made use of their closeness and mutual attraction for some convenient and (Hamish thought) terrific sex. "Any particular reason?" Hamish asked.
"I mean, no offense, but you've gotten too fat." Tom replied. He tried to make a show of bravado, Hamish could tell, snapping it out sarcastically and rolling his eyes with a smirk, but he noticed that Tom wouldn't meet his eyes, embarrassed to be bringing it up.
"I'm not too fat! I've not put on any weight!"
Tom scoffed and rolled his eyes again. He reached out and poked Hamish's hairy belly. "You had abs in September. You've practically got a gut now. I can see it fold over when you sit."
Hamish couldn't quite place the feeling he felt as he stepped away from Tom's finger, still outstretched and pointing into the pudge around his navel.
"Fine. You know what, fine. You were always a bit of an arsehole anyway. Good look getting a better fuck."
Tom laughed. "Don't be so dramatic! You're not the only top with a big cock in Manchester, and you're certainly not the hottest one anymore either. And anyway, I, for one, would like to spend uni fucking as many people as possible." He sighed a little and his tone softened. "Listen, I don't want to be mean, I'm just not as attracted to you any more. It happens. I'm sorry."
-
Later on, Hamish sat with a greasy pizza from a late-night kebab shop, fuming. "Too fat," he said out loud to himself. Okay, he'd put on a little weight since coming to uni, but everyone had. The beer, the drunken kebabs and cheesy chips, having to cook for themselves; there weren't many who'd stayed the same weight. He couldn't think of anyone right now who'd put on any weight, but he was sure there were some, he just hadn't noticed - Tom had only noticed because they were naked, he was sure. Vain fucking twink.
He moved to look in the mirror on the back of his door, only wearing underpants. While he might not be considered thin exactly anymore, he didn't think he'd passed the line into chubby. His muscles were covered with a thin layer of fat, but he was still strong from rugby, and his gut in particular might have started to stick out a little, but it wasn't very noticeable under the thick carpet of dark hair that some guys found so sexy. "Too fat..." he said again, softly.
His hand drifted down to his hardening cock. He still looked good, he thought to himself. His hand grasped his cocked a little more firmly. "Too fat." Better, in fact, than he had done when he'd started university. His hips started to rock slightly in time with his hand, and his eyes locked onto his own body in the mirror. "Too fat." It suited him, with his thick body hair and broad shoulders. His body spasmed a little and he let out a small moan. "Too fat." Made him look older; a real man. His right hand sped up while his left frantically grabbed two slices of pizza, shoving them both into his mouth at the same time. He shouted through a mouthful of pizza as he came, thick jets spraying up the mirror.
He looked at his reflection, shaking, not sure what he'd just done. "What was that?" he asked into his small room, before grabbing some tissues to clean up. Maybe a diet wouldn't be a bad idea, he told himself, before he picked up the last slice of pizza and put it in his mouth.
-
That night stayed in Hamish's mind the next few weeks. He looked at his mates and asked himself whether maybe no one else had put on quite so much weight - their shirts hadn't begun to strain ever so slightly against their gut like his had, and he'd noticed that they'd share a kebab or pizza after a night out, rather than get their own like he did. But then, they weren't becoming men like he was, Hamish told himself. They were still boys. Real men ate what they wanted. Real men didn't care if they'd gotten a little fat ("too fat", he remembered). He allowed his dark stubble to grow, fitting with his new self image as a real adult, a thick beard coming in quickly. He started drinking Guinness - a man's drink, he told himself, ignoring a small part of his brain that remembered how he'd heard it had more calories than other beers.
Hamish had weighed himself. A little over 14 stone. "Not even 200 pounds yet!" Hamish laughed, thinking how ridiculous Tom had been to call him too fat. He ignored the "yet" that had slipped out of his mouth and ignored the implications.
He saw Tom around, both of them living close by and moving in similar friendship groups. Hamish's friends would catch him staring at Tom with a rotating roster of almost identical skinny, hairless men, and ask whether he was alright. "Yeah! No, it's not... I'm not bothered it's just... It's nothing. Nothing." He was being honest, he didn't care about Tom, but his words wouldn't stop echoing around his head. "Too fat."
-
Back home on Christmas morning, he opened what seemed like a whole new wardrobe. "I've got the receipts if they don't fit," his mum explained. "I noticed some of your clothes weren't fitting quite so well."
"Too much beer lad!" his uncle laughed across the room, his wife elbowing in his own large stomach.
"He's just filling out aren't you dear!" his grandma told him. "Doesn't he look so mature! And with that beard! I'm sure he's popular with all the ladies." The family all looked at each other and quietly laughed.
That day, as he had each day he was home for Christmas, Hamish ate all day. Snacks, leftovers, bits of cheese and chocolate idly grazed upon, all in between large rich meals, put together by a doting mother unused to her eldest child not being at home.
When Hamish did go back to university, the eating didn't let up. "It's exam season" he told himself, "I can hardly lose weight now". Still, that now familiar stirring would occur as he would eat entire packs of biscuits in one sitting ("got to give my brain some energy!") and eat multiple pizzas or burgers each night ("I hardly have time to cook a proper meal, do I!")
-
As Hamish grew, so did his confidence, and he found himself with his first proper boyfriend shortly after Christmas. Vidhur was tall and thin, and on the same course as Hamish. Hamish was happy to have found someone who enjoyed his new body as much as he did, relishing in being called "husky", "cub" and "big man".
With someone who appreciated that not all gay men had to have the same small body, Hamish's growth didn't slow, and he found himself again and again in front of his mirror, hand on his cock, food in his mouth, "too fat" a mantra on his lips. As much sex as he and Vidhur were having, he still couldn't help pleasuring himself as well - his weight gain had ignited a sexual revolution in himself.
Hamish found himself going from strength to strength; he'd aced his first set of January exams, the rugby team captain was taking note of his new presence on the field and increasingly unstoppable momentum, and with his newfound confidence he was finding it easier and easier to make friends. As he approached the end of the university year and another exam season, he felt nothing could go wrong.
"Don't you think you're getting a little too fat?" Vidhur asked one day while in bed, his eyes scrutinising Hamish's torso.
"What? I don't know what you mean. No, I uh... I don't even think I've put on much weight since we met honestly." Hamish found himself blustering. He'd started weighing himself regularly, and had actually put on about 3 stone since that fateful night, bringing him close to 240 pounds. He didn't care about his weight, he told himself, it was just useful to keep track for rugby, although why that was he couldn't say.
Vidhur laughed. "You absolutely have! You were just stocky, now you've got a proper beer belly."
Hamish's crotch stirred. "Anyway, I thought you liked that I had a bit of meat on my bones," he said playfully, leaning over to kiss Vidhur on the neck.
Vidhur twisted away, still laughing. "Yes! A bit of meat! I think you've passed that point now!" He reached over and shook Hamish's belly, causing Hamish's cock to rise.
"I mean... I don't mind it. I think it's a good look," Hamish mumbled.
"I'm not saying it's terrible or anything. I just think you could lose a bit of weight, get you husky again instead of fat. You know, a dad bod." Vidhur went on, talking about diets and the gym, suggesting that they could do it together. Hamish wasn't listening, and the next morning when he got home he found himself again in front of his mirror, a shopping bag full of snacks that he'd bought on his way home on the bed. "Too fat," he told his reflection, in between pastries and biscuits.
-
Hamish found himself entering his second year of university single, but happy. Since Vidhur had broken up with him ("you're not even trying to lose weight! I thought it would be nice to go to the gym together.") Hamish admitted to himself that he enjoyed his weight gain, and found himself on websites he would have laughed about with his mates just a year ago.
Through these, he'd met Josh, who'd just graduated himself and had been gaining throughout university. Josh outweighed Hamish by about 2 stone, and with a similar height and body shape, Hamish found himself feeling like he was staring at his own future.
Hamish was thrilled that he no longer needed to hide his late-night stuffings and had an eager eating partner. The addition of food to sex, not just masturbation, drove him wild, and he couldn't get enough of food, sex or Josh.
Hamish's weight steadily continued to climb, and he found himself borrowing Josh's old clothes, and eventually his current ones to cover his growing body. He'd eye up Josh's gut filling the shirts better than his own, the waistband digging in, while it would still hang loose around Hamish's waist, and a fire was lit within him. He found himself leaving Josh's, his gut full from food eaten during sex throughout the night, and carrying on eating at home. Entire jars of peanut butter would be eaten as a snack, and he found himself buying a large bottle of milk each day as his appetite grew.
One night, Hamish lay next to Josh and looked from one gut to another. "You know, I think I've almost caught you up," he said, a hand on each of the bellies, gently feeling the heft of each. Both gained weight all over, with a thick layer of fat covering their bodies, their guts mounds of soft fat rather than the shapely ball guts that some men gained.
Josh looked and shrugged. "I guess. Listen, do you want to watch a movie or something."
Hamish looked up, surprised at the change of subject. "You okay?"
"Yeah, fine, I'm just tired," Josh replied shortly.
Hamish began to grin. "Are you jealous at how much I've gained recently? Don't worry, you're still my big man," he teased.
"I don't even know how!" Josh admitted, "I know you eat more than me when we stuff each other, but you've gained about 30 pounds in the amount of time it's taken me to out on about 5."
"Oh, is this the only time you eat like this?" Hamish asked, surprised.
"What do you mean?"
"I eat like this all the time now, to be honest. I can't help myself. It's so hot." Hamish looked down at himself and then across at Josh, pondering how much more he might be eating.
Josh's smile faltered, but then grew again and he reached over to stroke Hamish's gut, his hands moving lower "god you're insatiable, it's amazing."
"We're okay though, right?" Hamish asked, stopping him briefly.
"Yeah, yeah, honestly. You're right, I'm just a bit jealous. But it is really fucking hot. And I'm going to keep on making you bigger and bigger," he said, leaving in for a kiss.
-
A month later, Hamish was stood in Josh's bedroom, struggling to get into his jeans. He'd recently passed 280 pounds (twenty stone! his mind repeated to itself), and all his clothes had been getting tighter and tighter for weeks. After a weekend of eating in bed, his jeans were completely hopeless.
"Can I borrow some trousers? Probably 44 inch waist?" Hamish asked Josh, who'd just come in from the shower.
Josh stopped, staring at Hamish. "Oh. I only have 42 I think. Do you... Can't you... Are you bigger than that now?" He paused. "Are you bigger than me now?"
Hamish laughed, misreading Josh's silence "Fuck! I guess I must be! What are you? 275 pounds? 270? Wow, never thought that would happen! God, I was so much skinnier than you! Now, look!" He peeled the trousers off and moved towards Josh, his erection growing. "I think this calls for a celebration," he purred, reaching over both guts to kiss Josh.
"I've got work. We're not all students." Josh moved away. "I might have some sweatpants that might fit, bit of stretch." He turned away to look through some drawers.
"Oh, sorry. Yeah. Sure." Hamish found Josh's reaction confusing but struggled to pay much attention when faced with evidence of his growing body. He took put on some sweatpants (still a little tight despite the stretch, he noted with some pride) and kissed Josh before leaving and making his way to McDonald's for breakfast on the way to the library.
-
Josh wouldn't talk about it, but Hamish found the atmosphere between the two of them grow increasingly frosty for the next few weeks. Their sex life suddenly dropped away, and Josh started to refuse the involvement of food in the bedroom. Eventually, after one date to a buffet when Josh ate only a small plate of salad, Hamish confronted him.
"A salad Josh! At a buffet! I don't care if you've gone off gaining or not, no one eats a salad at a buffet! You paid 17 fucking quid!"
"I thought I might lose some weight," Josh replied quietly, staring somewhere above Hamish's head.
"What? We literally met on a gaining website." Hamish didn't understand.
"I can change my mind, can't I? I can stop enjoying it!" Josh was getting louder.
"Of course you can but... I don't understand where this has come from. I'm not surprised, you've been acting odd for a while but, I don't know." It was Hamish's turn to get quiet.
Josh was silent for a long time before finally speaking again. "I liked being the big one, okay? I love being the biggest person in the room, I love taking up more space than other people, I loved you looking at me and dreaming of being my size. And then you were." Josh had begun pacing. "And at first it was fine and sexy and... I mean Jesus, you know how hot fat men are. But once you were bigger than me, and you were the biggest person in the room, and you were taking up more space than me, I was just this other fat guy that was there, y'know?" Josh had stopped pacing and was looking directly at Hamish, tears welling up. "It was all I wanted for years and you're just so much better at it than me!"
"Okay, how about we focus on you for a bit! I'll slow down a little, and we'll feed you up and -"
Josh laughed, short and sharp. "I actually don't think you can do that you know. You properly love being fat. I mean I love it too, but you're something else. I don't even know how much bigger I want to get. Are you happy to stay this size forever? Lose a little weight?"
Hamish shook his head, sadly. "This isn't going to work, is it? You've been thinking about it for a while."
"I'm sorry. I am. I'd like to stay friends, maybe even fuck buddies. I just can't be in a relationship with you I think, not at the moment." He smiled and squeezed Hamish's gut. "You're just too fat."
-
The break-up and end-of-year exams led Hamish to comfort eating, and to Eric, a muscular feeder who had promised to get Hamish above 300 pounds. They both understood that Hamish wasn't ready for a new relationship, but both were happy to just enjoy each other for the time being.
Hamish didn't go home over summer, instead getting a research placement within his department at the university. While this was a great career opportunity, he was also nervous to go home to his family - he'd almost certainly passed the point where they'd joke about him filling out and maturing. While they knew their son wasn't exactly thin anymore, he didn't think he could cope with their inevitable comments after his breakup, however well meaning.
So instead, he had roughly the whole summer to be fed by Eric. No stranger to eating, even Hamish found his limits pushed by the handsome hunk, who would mix up thick shakes of ice cream and weight gain powder, and pour them down his throat, sometimes immediately after huge meals.
Hamish found it tough, but intensely erotic, and his weight climbed faster than ever before. By the end of summer, he reached 310 pounds, and he felt like his entire body shape had changed. Whereas previously his fat had been distributed around his body, he felt like all of the weight Eric had put on him had gone straight to his stomach, which bowed out in a spherical shape. He started to find himself getting wedged in between armrests, and he struggled to reach his shoelaces, or even his dick, without struggling around his large gut.
"So, there we go!" Eric announced at the start of the new term. "Over 300 pounds, just like we said. Listen, you're really sexy but I just really love men who are actively gaining, so if you've reached your goal then I'll -"
"Oh, I'm not stopping!" Hamish interrupted. "I'm happy to keep going! Sign me up!"
Eric looked at Josh. "I mean, 300 pounds is already really big. You really sure?"
"Absolutely! I reckon we could do 350 by Easter? Maybe Christmas but it might be a bit more difficult when we've both got lectures."
Eric hesitated. "To be honest, 350 pounds might be a little above my limit but..." he looked Hamish over. "Fuck it. Let's do it. Let's get you enormous."
-
Eric's feedings of Hamish continued, and his weight continued to climb. Being busy with lectures, Eric's encouragement was less hands on, but he sent Hamish off each day with a bag full of snacks and a list of calorie goals to meet. Hamish knew that Eric would sleep with and encourage other men, but was happy to know that he was Eric's main project - his biggest, and most enthusiastic gainer.
Over Christmas, Hamish's family were concerned about his weight gain, but could tell he was happy so didn't push it. He was disappointed to open his Christmas present of a gym membership but vowed to hit the weights and get stronger to carry more fat, and the new clothes were appreciated as he wasn't sure how much longer he'd fit in his current sizes. His mother quietly made sure there wasn't quite as much food as other years, but Hamish was insatiable and didn't let that stop him, simply buying his own food.
Sure enough, Hamish hit 350 pounds shortly after Christmas, and he and Eric celebrated with a weekend long stuffing.
"Come on, get me up to 400 pounds! Doesn't that sound incredible! 400 pounds!" Hamish implored Eric.
"Look, I get you want to be bigger, but honestly when we met you were already on the bigger end of what I tend to go for. It's been hot encouraging you, but that's it for me. You've just gotten too fat."
-
Hamish sat with some friends, celebrating the end of their last round of exams. Without anyone to encourage him or gain with him, he'd found pushing himself to continue to gain more difficult, but still indulged in stuffings, and ate far more than anyone else he knew. Still, he'd only gained about a stone and a half since Eric had stopped encouraging him - an amount any of his mates would be horrified by, but which to him was barely noticeable at his current weight, and disappointing given his previous explosive growth.
Across the bar, he saw a thick gut catch his eye, clearly straining against the buttons of the man's shirt. He moved in his seat for a better look, feeling his penis stiffen. He remembered back to when he was that size, perhaps when he'd gotten "too fat" for Vidhur, although now he was happy to say he was too fat for most people he knew.
He appraised the man as he came into view. He had more of a ball gut shape than Hamish had at that weight, pushing out in a firm sphere the size of a basketball. He looked up as the man got closer, half recognising the face. He tried to not be obvious as he tried to figure out who it could be. He was so focused, trying to mentally subtract the slight double chin, the chubby cheeks, the stubble, to recognise the figure, that he didn't notice that he was making a beeline straight for his friends' table until one of his friends called out.
"Tom! How've you been? You all done as well now?"
Oh fuck. Oh wow. Tom. Vain twink Tom. The Tom that had first called him too fat, now several stone heavier than Hamish had been when he'd said that.
He realised he was staring, closed his mouth and smiled. "Wow Tom! It's been ages, how are you?"
"Oh my- Oh my god. Oh my god! Hamish! I didn't recog- I mean. Hamish! How are you?" Tom, having gotten over his initial shock, smiled.
Hamish always loved when this happened, when someone he knew couldn't recognise him under the bulk and the weight, but this was particularly delicious.
A few hours later, once people were on their way to someone's house to pre drink, Hamish peeled off from the group, saying he needed to eat before carrying on. His friends jeered and joked, used to Hamish's voracious appetite, as Hamish made his way to a particular favourite kebab shop. He felt the presence of someone slightly behind him, and turned, surprised to see Tom following him. "Thought I'd join you." He slapped his own gut. "Got to fill the tank, you know."
As they sat with their burgers (three for Hamish, two for Tom at Hamish's insistence) and fries, they talked about their not-quite-relationship, all those years before.
"Listen, I'm sorry I was such an arsehole about your weight." Tom offered.
Hamish waved the apology away. "Honestly, it was one of the best things that happened to me. It was a real turning point for me. I uhh, I don't know if you can tell", he paused, confident about his weight gain but unused to discussing it with his friends, "I do quite like putting on weight."
Tom laughed. "Yeah, yeah, I thought you might!" He looked around before continuing. "I kind of like it too, to be honest. That's why I wanted to apologise. I think I was nervous when you started gaining weight. Like someone would figure out I was into this stuff."
"That's okay. Really. I get it. If you hadn't called me too fat, I'm not sure I would have figured it out myself. I should thank you really. So go on, where did this come from?" Hamish asked, reaching over to pat Tom's belly.
"Just some rubbish relationships with increasingly vain and shallow men. All of them were obsessed with how they looked, and how I looked," Tom explained. "I broke my ankle at the start of this year and put on a bit of weight while it healed. My boyfriend broke up with me and told me I was too fat and it was the hottest thing I'd ever heard. I've been making up for lost time since then."
"Sounds familiar, oddly enough. Listen, I reckon tonight will be a bit rubbish, shall we just go for a drink together, maybe something else to eat?"
"Something else?!" Tom exclaimed, looking at the pile of burger wrappers on the table, and started laughing. "Yeah, you know what that sounds good." He looked Hamish up and down. "So, tell me. What's too fat for you?"
"Honestly?" Hamish replied. "I don't know. No one's ever asked."
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